


Humble Abode

by kazzeng



Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: 2nd person POV, Awkward Sexual Situations, Canon-Typical Violence, Carl Doesn’t Die AU, Carl likes hair pulling, Close Quarters, EVENTUAL I SAID, Eventual Smut, F/M, Guns, Hair-pulling, Just so awkward, Non-Specific Season, Protective Rick, Slow Burn, Teenage Awkwardness, Trauma Bonding, Trauma sex, Underage Drinking, WIP, but we love him, carl is 18, carl is a nerd, drunk carl is stupid, is that even a tag, mostly awkward teen fluff, ok not THAT slow burn, reader is 17, reader is sarcastic, rick is a cockblock, slight angst, sweet baby carl is horny, the walkers are kind of a plot device but whatever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27536614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazzeng/pseuds/kazzeng
Summary: “Yeah, let me just invite two strange men into my house. Brilliant.”“Pretty please?”—————In which Rick and Carl seek shelter in the house you’ve been holed up for as long as you can remember. As things get worse outside -and something more pleasant starts to form inside- they have no choice but to stay.
Relationships: Carl Grimes & You, Carl Grimes/Reader, Carl Grimes/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	1. New In Town?

**Author's Note:**

> carl is 18 in this but i feel like even at 18 he’s still a fuckin nerd <3

Before they showed up, life had been mostly peaceful. Well, besides the carnivorous undead monsters outside your door at all times, but that was pretty par for the course these days.

The key word in that being _had._ Life _had_ been peaceful.

It had been a day like any other. You’d waken up bright and early, eaten a refreshing bowl of cold corn and a powdery protein shake, and went to clear the stone walls around your house of any stray walkers, just like always. Your dissatisfaction with the mind-numbing routine was cruelly and ironically interrupted by gunshots.

They echoed down the street, the loud ‘ _pops’_ were seemingly far away, but they were still making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

No one ever came anywhere remotely close to your house. The neighborhood had been evacuated years ago, obviously, but it was so painfully out of anyone’s way that you had always been left completely undisturbed, ever since you’d claimed the house for your own. Thick marshes and swamps surrounded the structure to the South, vast fields of long-dead crops to the North, and nothing but a decrepit dirt road and other deserted houses in both remaining directions. 

So the jolt of surprise when the shots rang out down the road was considerable. Who on earth was lost enough to come through here? And why are they stupid enough to be shooting guns at the walkers? There were hardly a handful of the monsters that passed through each day, and any sharp object would do the trick just fine.

Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you used your legs to propel you forward up the narrow staircase and into the first room on the upper floor. In it, was one of the only unboarded windows, which is what allowed you to curiously peek your head out of the frame to try to get a glimpse of the commotion. 

You looked in awe. 

There was not a handful of walkers. Not a dozen. It must’ve been almost 30 or more, limping and pulling themselves along the dirt road, kicking up dust and snarling.

Your breathing picked up. You weren’t prepared for this. Warm blood flowed through your veins; you could hear your pulse in your ears as you began to preemptively mourn the loss of the house you’d worked so hard to call home.

Just as you were about to begin to pack your things and sneak out the back door, you saw them.

One tall man, who’s brown, curly hair contrasted with his silver beard, and who’s face was nearly caked with dirt and blood. 

Then, another man. Boy? No, man. His face was almost completely obscured by a wide-brimmed sheriff’s hat and an eyepatch, but you could tell that he had dark hair that fell almost past his shoulders. He also had a jet-black pistol in hand, and you just watched as he waved it at the oncoming walkers, not hesitating for even a second as he fired. 

You wanted to stay in the safety of your home, watching from a far enough distance. A _safe_ distance. Your days of getting your hands dirty were long over. As your hands moved to shut the window, you saw the older man look at you, and your eyes met.

”Hey! You, there!” He shouted. His voice was raspy, a deep southern drawl dripping from his words. “Give us a hand?” He gestured wildly to the growing hoard behind him and the other man, who was still shooting the slow-moving creatures as they approached, looked up briefly, a look of pleading on his face.

You groaned at the sight. Why were you such a sucker?

Grabbing a rifle from the table beside you, you raced back down the stairs. Maneuvering through the safety precautions you’d set out, you unlatched the locks that lined the front door. Finally, you emerged, just as the herd arrived just past your doorstep. You hauled yourself over the tall stone walls, briefly perching on top before hopping off, your feet -only sock clad- landing hard on the yellowed grass.

The clicking of the locks and squeaky hinges forced their eyes over to you. Most of their mouths, if there at all, were drawn slack, arms outstretched desperately.

The two men looked slightly grateful for the new lack of interest in them from the walkers, but continued to fire on the monsters as they shuffled in your direction. They were scarily precise, a clean shot through the skull landing every time. You tried your best to follow their lead, knocking walkers off one at a time, a growing pile of bodies beginning to stack up in front of you. 

Their numbers never seemed to get smaller, the group of monsters seemingly only growing in size. You knew that there was no way in hell you’d be able to take them all, even with three of you. 

With your mind made up, you swiftly crawled back atop the gray wall behind you. Firing a few final shots, you receded back behind the barrier.

”Hey!” A different voice this time, presumably the younger man. There was no southern accent, and his voice cracked ever so slightly. “You a coward? You’re just gonna leave us? Huh?” His voice was filled with a desperate rage.

_God damn it._

Against all better judgement, you lifted up the beaten welcome mat and fished out a silver key. You approached the well-concealed stone gate, sliding the tool into the metal lock, and turned. The gate swung open, giving an opening for the two men to enter your yard. They stared at you as you stood, gate open, walkers inching ever-closer. Maybe it was out of relief, or the fact that they were taking in the sight of you.

To be fair, you were wearing only a wife-beater and some men’s boxers that were a few sizes too big; obviously pillaged from the house, so you understood their faltering. But hey, they were the ones showing up unannounced.

”You just gonna stand there, or what?” You snapped, feeling ridiculous at their slack faces, and the fact that you were letting them in at all. 

They all but dived through the opening in the sturdy gate, helping you push it back shut when they landed safely inside. The shockingly-strong pushback of walkers on the other side made it a struggle to complete the latch and lock to secure the yard. 

As the two men caught their breath, you snuck silently around them, into the front door of your house. The locks clicked one-by-one as you worked your way from top to bottom, either a twist-knob or a chain lock lining the door. 

As soon as you’d completed the last lock, the men noticed. A forceful pounding on the door echoed through the house. The knob jiggled and you could see the hinges straining as one -or both- of the men slammed up against the wood, attempting to breach it. 

“You can’t trap us out here.” The southern man said. “The walkers’ll smell us. ‘N then they’ll _never_ let us outta here.” 

You rolled your eyes, even behind the door.

“I’ve done my part, okay? You should be _thrilled_ that I’m even letting you in the yard. I saved your lives!” You shot back. 

“So, what?” Said the younger man. “You’re just gonna let us starve out here?” You heard stern murmuring from the other side of the wood before he spoke again. “Please, please, just let us in.” He sounded genuine, if you were being honest. But then again, any good manipulator can sound innocent, right? 

“Yeah, let me just invite two strange men into my house. Brilliant.” You scoffed.

Maybe the gunshots and the walkers were an organized ploy to get into your house? It seemed unlikely, but anything was possible nowadays, right? 

A heavy silence settled, only the sounds of muffled walkers filling the air. Finally, the same voice as before spoke.

”Pretty please?” 

You let out a hearty laugh at that, before trying your best to stifle it. 

“You might be murderers. Or rapists. You like to prey on innocent teenage girls? Huh?” Your method for coaxing a confession of evilness wasn’t airtight, but what else could you do?

”We aren't.” It was the older man again. His voice was stony and solemn. You gnawed on your thumb’s fingernail as you contemplated your options. 

Another few lengthy minutes passed before you sighed, defeated. You had a feeling you were gonna regret this, somehow.

Your adept fingers moved swiftly, soft clinking of metal sounding quietly as the locks became undone. Finally, as the last chain slid from it’s position, the wooden door slowly slid open, revealing the two men behind it. They looked like they’d been to hell and back. From their pained, desperate expressions, you wouldn’t doubt it. 

“If you kill me, I’m gonna be so pissed.” 

•

“Here’s the shower,” You cracked the bathroom door, allowing the men to peek inside. “Hope you boys like lilac scented shampoo.” The bottle soap was long-expired, but it smelled like heaven and it had been a great find the last time you’d ventured into town. The two men’s expressions didn’t change one bit. 

“Is there another bedroom?” The southern man asked. “Or even a-a couch of some sort?” 

You nodded, bringing them down an unlit hallway to a different room. As you cracked the door, a perfectly made, untouched room was revealed. It was obviously a kid’s room, toys neatly organized on shelves, and piles of thin, kids books. 

“In here, maybe,” You looked harder at the furniture, first. “If you’re willing to share the race car bed, of course.” It sounded like a joke, but you weren’t kidding. The race car bed frame encompassed a minuscule twin-bed, made with thick red sheets and a mountain of pillows. 

“You take this one, Carl,” Said the older man. “I’ll take the couch.”

_Carl?_

“And what’s your name then, big guy?” You ask him. Your brain-to-mouth filter had never been your strong suit. A trite smile pulls at the lines on his face.

”Rick. Rick Grimes.” You nodded at him. Hand-shaking was also something you weren’t exactly fond of. 

“I’m Y/N. Welcome to my humble abode.” You joked. Neither man laughed, so you took a deep breath and glanced back at the door to your room. “You guys are only crashing for tonight, okay?” They nodded knowingly. “Good. My room is down there, on the end. If you try _anything,_ I swear to god I will chop your dick off and feed it to the walkers.” 

That did earn a laugh from the younger man -Carl- you reminded yourself. The approval of another human being; something you hadn’t had in god-knows-how-long was causing a swell of pride in your gut. You also earned a seriously understanding expression from Rick. After Carl had composed himself, they both nodded. You turned away from them, heading to your room. 

“I call dibs on shower.” Said Carl, quietly to Rick. You glanced back to see the older man roll his eyes, a small but genuine smile growing on his lips. 

“Whatever you say, kid.” His grimy hand reached out to ruffle Carl’s hair, and as soon as you were about to turn back around, your eyes met. As his dark, now-ruffled hair fell in tufts over his eyes, you swore you saw some sort of blush start to color his cheeks. After just a second, you decided that you were imagining it. 

When you reach your room, you shut the door tightly. You wonder if you made the right decision by letting the mysterious Rick and Carl into your house. You also contemplated pushing a chair under your door to secure it, but didn’t.  
Something about the two men outside your door felt genuine; real. Maybe it was you projecting your hopes that there were still good people in this world, or maybe they really were trustworthy. Either way, you left the wooden chair in your room away from the doorknob, and instead flopped onto the large bed, lined up under a large, boarded window and positioned in the center of the back wall.

Slipping a hand under your pillow, you felt around and felt a knife. It was a hunting knife you’d had even before your arrival at the house.

_No, not that._

Groping the sheets further, you found what you were looking for.   
A mostly intact copy of a stray watchmen comic. The pages were worn from the countless times your fingers had turned the pages, but it was still legible. This was close to your 15th time reading it, maybe more. You’d lost count. Despite this, you enjoyed scanning the pages of the comic none the less. 

After a few minutes, you heard the splashing of water from the bathroom. Because of the lack of any running water, you’d collected a few heavy-duty buckets of rain water over time. It wasn’t luxury, but it was better than nothing. Eventually, you overheard the door unlatch again, and more splashing resume. Rick’s turn, you assumed.

Suddenly, there was a subdued knocking on the door. It wasn’t aggressive, but it made you jump anyway, your hand flying to the knife under your pillow, tightly gripping the handle. You shook your head. 

_What kind of murderer knocks?_

Slightly unsteadily, you moved off of your comforter, to the door, and cracked open the door.

It was Carl. His crystal blue eyes flicked up to look at you when he heard the opening door.

He was dressed in the same grimy clothes as before, so his scrubbed skin and damp hair seemed jarringly out of place. His arms lay limply at his sides, with no clear intent to pull any weapons on you. With that ease of mind, you pulled open the door wider. As he stared at you in silence, you gave him an expecting look. 

“Do you have a question, or are you just gonna, like, stand there?” You quipped. The gears apparently began to turn in his head, whatever he was thinking, and flashed a smile that looked more akin to a grimace.

”I know we’ve already asked a lot of you,” You nodded at this. “But would you spare some food? Me and dad haven’t eaten in days.” His teeth chewed his bottom lip as he watched you think about it. You weren’t a damn charity worker.

”Yeah, sure, whatever.” You shrugged. You had no idea why you said that, or why you’d agreed to it at all, but nevertheless you stepped out into the hallway with the man. 

He followed you silently as you both padded down the stairs into the kitchen. Most dishes were neatly stacked, and all of the cabinets were closed, except for the one left open from your breakfast that morning. The one that had been promptly interrupted. 

Flinging open the biggest pantry, you revealed stacks of freeze-dried fruit, canned food, and protein powder containers. Other stray items, perishable ones, were far and few between. You glanced back at Carl. His eyes were wide with shock.

”H-how?” His voice cracked slightly. You kept your mouth pulled tightly shut though, determined not to laugh. “I mean, really, how?” He looked at you, almost accusingly. 

“The guy who owned this place was a real survival nut, apparently.” You scanned the stocked pantry with your eyes. “Found all this and more in the cellar, when I first found this place.” You explained further. Glancing back at him, you raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t question the mile-high stone walls out front? The windows? Or the twenty locks on the door?” He seemed to grapple for words, mouth opening and closing every few seconds.

”I-I didn’t even notice, really.” He said shortly. It was fair, though. The world had surely changed a lot since things like this were uncommon. “Did you say cellar?” He said, hopefully.

”Yeah.” You paused, sighing. “Had a little breach, a few months ago though, totally my fault.” Tears pricked the sides of your eyes as you tried to blink them away. Suddenly you were glad you were still turned away from him. “There’s quite the collection of flesh-eating dickheads down there.” You mused, picking a bag of freeze-dried peaches from the shelves in front of you. 

“Damn.” Carl said suddenly. You nodded to yourself. Damn indeed. He then reached around your shoulder, pulling a container of chocolate-flavored protein powder. “We could help you clear it. If you let us stay a little while.” 

The thought was an attractive one, the walkers in the cellar were an accident waiting to happen. Then, you remembered who exactly was down there. 

“Not an option.” 

Moving past Carl, you opened the fridge. It had no power, and didn’t keep anything even remotely cold, but you stocked it with water you’d collected anyway. Squatting down and pulling a plastic water bottle, you turned and handed it the man. He looked dejected, but grabbed it anyway, carefully spooning the powder into the top. 

As he shook the bottle, you studied him. He wasn’t tall, but wasn’t short. He was lean, presumably from life on the road. His age was harder to pinpoint. He appeared to have a chronic case of baby face. Again, you noticed his dirt-spattered clothes. 

“Doesn’t wearing dirty clothes after showering kind of,” You sighed, a smile in your voice. “defeat the purpose?” At your words, he looked down at his clothes, shaking the water bottle in one hand. 

“‘S not like I have any others.” He sounded bitter. 

_You really gotta work on that filter._  
  


A thought popped into your head. 

“There’s plenty of guys clothes upstairs.” You gestured to the plaid boxers you were still sporting; with pride, of course. “If you’re interested.” 

Just the thought of fresh clothes seemed to excite him, as he perked up significantly, nodding quickly. Without words, you went back upstairs into your room. He looked apprehensive, like he was wondering if he was allowed to enter. As he stood at the door, you waved him in nonchalantly. A gentleman, perhaps?

”Let me look, one second.” You pulled open two wooden doors, and they folded to reveal a decent sized closet. Shelves, drawers, and racks for hangers filled with clean clothes. You heard the bed squeak slightly as he settled onto the covers, half hanging off the edge, barely on the mattress at all. 

You struggled to separate your clothes from the ones that you didn’t like or didn’t fit, but you began to make a pile on the floor from Carl and his dad to look through. 

“Woah.” You suddenly heard from behind you. “You like comics? Y-you _have_ comics?” He sounded in awe. Taking a break from your sorting, you walk to the bedside drawer, pulling it open abruptly. It held a pistol, but below that, a stack of wildly outdated comics. With a grin, you threw the handful of thin, bound, books toward the boy on your bed. “Holy shit.” He said, quickly rifling through them, scanning each cover. 

“You a fan of comics, then?” You’d already resumed your clothes-pile-building. 

“Used to be.” His voice was more subdued now, like he was talking to himself. He must’ve seen you look back at him, as he lifts his eyes from his shoes and a small, pained smile grows on his face. “At the beginning. And, you know, before.” You nodded, understanding. He’d already cracked one open, eyes flicking excitedly over the colorful pages. It made a little flutter of adoration rear its head in your gut. 

“Freeze-dried peach?” You offered, extending the bag out to him. He nodded gratefully, appearing to relish any sweetness the fruit contained. 

When you finally finished rifling through the closet, you’d had to practically pry the book from his hands to have him pick through the clothes. He’d decided on a navy blue 3/4 sleeve and a pair of tattered black pants you knew he’d have to hold up with a belt. He looked at you expectingly, like you were supposed to be the one to turn around or move into the hallway. 

“You have your own room, Carl.” You had to remind him, apparently. An embarrassed flush climbing up his neck, he nodded silently, grabbing his shake and the pile of clothes from the floor and exiting out the door without a word. Hopefully you hadn’t embarrassed him? Wait, why did you care if he was embarrassed?

You sighed, shaking your head at yourself. Ever the people pleaser, even in the goddamn apocalypse, apparently. 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you spied the comic he’d begun, laid flat on your bedspread, half opened, the mattress serving as a bookmark. You looked around your room for any other bookmark, deciding on a single match from the box you had left. It slipped easily between the pages, poking just barely out the top. 

Comic in hand, you moved down the hallway to the other room. Without a second thought, you opened the door, arm extended with the offering. 

You had forgotten, of course, that Carl would be changing into the clothes you’d just given him. You looked through the door you’d open just as he’d begun to pull his dirty shirt over his head. He’d taken his sheriff’s hat off, and as the item of clothing moved over his head, you saw his face fully.

You also saw his newly-naked chest fully, which was arguably the most noticeable part of him at the moment.

He was pale where the shirt had shielded his skin from the sun, and his stomach was toned. He was almost scrawny, teetering the line between malnourished and constantly on the run. Scattered with scars and bruises too, but weren’t we all? He finally noticed your entrance, looking at you confusedly. He was mostly unabashed about his state, not moving to cover up. If anything, he looked annoyed with you. Nevertheless, you quickly turned away anyway, facing the hallway instead.

”My bad, man!” You squeaked out, clearing your throat. “I’m seriously not used to having to knock.” It was true. After so long alone you’d somehow forgotten common courtesy.

You were still holding the comic out as an offering behind you. Even as your your eyes burned holes into the wall in front of you, you felt Carl move forward, taking the book from your hand. His hand slightly overlapped yours as he grabbed it from you, and you heard him flip it open. 

“Thanks. I promise I’ll return it by tomorrow. Before we leave.” He said, giving away no reaction to the slightly precarious situation you two were in at the moment. 

“Good.” Was all you could manage, voice audibly straining. Without another second to waste, you shut the door behind you without turning around for another second. 

Your cheeks felt unreasonably warm from such a small interaction. It felt a little ridiculous, but hey, it’d been a while. 

It was just your luck that Rick appeared out of the bathroom door just then, facing you. He’d also put his dirtied clothes back on. He made steely eye contact with you when he saw you were coming from the direction of him and Carl’s room. Not willing to explain it, you nodded at him, fumbling for words. 

“Mr. Grimes.” You nodded again before passing him. His skeptical eyes followed you as he stopped walking, you could feel them on the back of your head. 

_Why on earth would ‘Mr. Grimes’ be the thing to say right then? When would that ever be the thing to say?_

Your apparent never-ending awkwardness followed you into your room, even as you shut the door tightly. You sighed into your pillow as soon as you flopped down onto the mattress. It heaved and squeaked beneath your weight, but you ignored it, choosing instead to flip open your copy of Watchmen. You knew you would regret letting them it. You knew it!

Okay, maybe that was dramatic. You didn’t really regret it. But you still tried to push the events from the last few minutes from your mind. Like, permanently. 

Through the thin walls, you could hear muffled conversations from the Grimes’ room. You couldn’t make out a single word they were saying, but the constant hum of background noise was a comfort. Life in near-isolation was starting to take it’s toll on you, in all honesty. Even the barely-audible sounds of strangers down the hall was enough to calm your nerves. 

You finished the copy of Watchmen, slowly shutting the cover and putting back in it’s place in your bedside drawer, under the pistol. You felt a sudden wave of tiredness hit you, eyes dragging down like there were paperweights attached to your eyelashes. As your head slumped heavily on the pillow, you listened intently to the quiet laughter from down the hall. It lulled you unwillingly, but also quickly, to sleep. 

•

_CLANG_

You were startled awake suddenly, your heart racing. Had there been another breach? Were the walkers just outside? You listened intently, not even noticing that your fingers had instinctively found the hunting knife, curling tightly around it. 

Another sound of clattering metal sounded through the house. It was followed by the sound of gravelly laughter. You heaved a sigh of relief at the remembrance of your guests. A thought bubbled suddenly in your mind and your eyes flew to your watch. 7:30 PM. You’d slept through the whole afternoon. 

_Of course they want dinner. What kind of host are you?_

Padding silently through the house, you reached the kitchen with no error. It was second nature to be as quiet as possible. The insider information on what floorboards squeaked and every hinge that needed to be oiled was a great combination. You leaned lazily against the open entrance to the kitchen, watching the two men fumble with the drawers.

Their new clothes hung loosely off of Carl, who’s thin frame was close to drowning in them. They fit Rick a little better, but weren’t exactly tailored-to-fit. Either way, they looked so much more normal now. Cleaned and groomed and dressed. Like they hadn’t been chased by murderous monsters on the way here, and that they weren’t seeking emergency shelter right there in the house.

”Is there no damn can opener?” Grumbled Rick, opening yet another drawer, digging around in it to no success. Most were empty, filled with unopened cans, or filled with pots and pans that would be no help to them with no electricity for the stove. You chuckled. At the sound of your laugh, both men whipped around, hands on their guns, still holstered, luckily for you. When they realized it was just you, they relaxed slightly, hands falling back to their sides.

“You boys are jumpy, huh?” You said, attempting to be playful to ease the uncomfortable energy. Partly from the incident-that-shall-not-be-named from earlier, and the tension from the accidental stealth approach. “Oh, and the can opener is in here.” You found the drawer farthest to the right, tucked away in the corner, pulling it out and rifling through its contents. After only a few seconds, you extracted an outdated, rusty can opener. They looked grateful nonetheless.

They helped pull out their own bowls and spoons as you all wrenched open soups, peas, and corn. The slop-like mixture didn’t look especially tasty, but it sure was enough to fill you up. You were almost hesitant, to just give away the food from the ever-dwindling supply, but you figured it was only one night, right? 

To combat the darkness, you each lit a few candles. The yellow light did a mediocre job of lighting up the house, but you didn’t mind. It was better than nothing. You’d all moved to the living room, deciding the dining table would be a more painfully uncomfortable option. Far too formal. 

And so you sat. You, spread out cross-legged on the couch, and Rick and Carl sitting in two corduroy recliner chairs, forming something vaguely like a circle, a dark wooden coffee table in the center of you all. For a while you ate in silence, before Rick spoke up. 

“Just you here, then, Y/N?” He posed the question innocently, still scooping a spoonful of chicken soup as he talked. 

“Mhmm,” You hummed as you chewed. “Didn’t used to be. But it’s been just me for a while, yeah.” The tone had turned more solemn than before. 

“How long?” He asked again. You looked up at him, determined not to show the pain on your face. It was obvious the questions were well intentioned, and that he was being as sensitive as possible. 

“Lived here maybe 3 years?” A look of surprise was evident on both the men’s faces at that. “Just me though, about 11 months.” You sighed, eyes turned down and focused on the carpet. “Feels like forever.” You murmured. 

“It’s been just me and dad for a while too. Used to be others.” Said Carl suddenly, looking to ease the imbalance of sharing. “But we look after each other.” He said, a comforting smile on his face. His confidence in his dad made your heart swell. It was magic, only because of the rareness of any real love in the world as it was. But you could tell they were closer than anything. 

“We could look after you, too.” Rick added. A hopeful look on his face. You knew what he meant. “We can help clear the cellar. And when that food runs out -and it will- you’ll need a group. To go on runs. To fight walkers. Let us help you, and you’ll help us.” It was a desperate plead. 

“The cellar is fine.” You hissed, before realizing he was just stating facts; making his case. “I’ve got enough food to last me a solid few months. When I run out, I’ll give you a holler, yeah?” You joked, knowing that as soon as they exited the gates, they’d never cross paths again. It made you sad, almost, but not nearly enough for you to be convinced to let the men stay. “I’ve handled life alone well enough, so far.” 

As silence fell between you, Rick and Carl dejected in front of you, a sound began to rise. Walkers. Biting and clawing and snarling at the gate. It was louder than you ever remember hearing it. Apparently they notice it too, because they look at each other with worry. 

Rick gets up suddenly, moving toward the door, beginning to work on the many, repetitive locks. 

“Hey!” You cried, also rising from your seat. “Don’t comprise the security of this place! Don’t go out there, Rick!” You shouted after him, but he didn’t stop, didn’t even pause. He flung open the door. He went for a running start, before jumping and just barely hauling himself atop the stone wall. You didn’t care to tell him there was strategically placed stones that stuck out of the wall to form a ladder. 

As he stood, his face fell. He nudged his head to call the two of you over, and you and Carl both obliged. He ran and jumped, struggling slightly more than his father, as you took the secret ladder. When you arrived at the top, your jaw dropped. 

The 30 walkers hadn’t lost interest in the house at all. Instead, almost 50 now spread themselves along the barrier, clawing at the rock. Those from earlier who had lost interest were now wandering the fields, populating any previously vacant land, eliminating any chance of exiting the general vicinity without getting chomped, no doubt. You grimaced. 

“H-how?” You said defeatedly, in a state of shock. 

“They must smell us. And they heard the gunshots, plus the pounding in the cellar.” Carl offers. You look at him, knowing he’s right. Shit. 

“So if you stay, you attract walkers to the already-existing heard.” They both nod. “But you can’t leave, because it’d be a death sentence.” They nod again. “Well isn’t that just lucky.” You raise an eyebrow at them, looking them up and down. This determined ass group of walkers might just be helping them here. 

“So I guess we don’t get a say in the matter, but,” Ventured Rick. “You still gonna cut us loose tomorrow mornin’?” He asked it genuinely, but you also had a feeling that he knew the answer. 

“Not tomorrow morning.” You admitted. Carl’s eyes perked up at this, a grin pulling it’s way up the right side of his mouth. “But this isn’t permanent by any means, under any circumstances.” You say clearly. Now full-fledged smiles grew on their faces as they looked excitedly at each other. They’d gotten their food-and-shelter refuge they’d wanted.

The energy had shifted as the three of you went back inside. With the promise of a warm bed for more than that night, the two men were practically buzzing. You offhandedly wondered when the last time they’d had a home like this had been. 

“We used to have pudding here, too.” You chuckled. The three of you had settled in slightly more than earlier. “Of course, I ate it all within, like, two months.” Carl laughed across from you, his one good eye squinting as he smiled. 

“I haven’t had pudding in years.” He mused, thinking back to the last time he’d cleared a house with a can of pudding. It was a more fond memory looking back than it had been at the time. “You live pretty comfortably here, Y/N.” 

  
You didn’t think it was envy in his voice, but there was something in his face that you couldn’t place.

”Well, yeah, I guess I do.” You shrugged, still pushing around your canned-mush soup. “I did my time on the run. Wandering around. On the run.” You shifted in your seat. “I know what it’s like out there.” 

Rick nodded, already done scarfing down his bowl of food. 

“It only gets worse with time.” His voice was somber. “You forget how bad it is. And trust me, it’s gotten worse.” A grimace pulled his lips into a thin line under his stubble. 

“I know, christ, I know.” You shook your head, staring at your lap, now. “But I just met you two, yeah?” They nodded, slowly. “Give it a night, let me think about it.” You finally admitted. Both men smiled brightly at this. 

“Good night, Y/N.” Carl called after you as you placed the dishes in the sink. “See you in the morning.” It felt more like he was reminding himself that he’d still be in a safe place in the morning, than he was telling you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no drunk teenagers this chapter, sorry. soon...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said slow burn so let’s go boyz

You could still hear them in the morning. The persistent banging and snarling at the walls. Even worse was the horrible addition of the cellar. 

You shuddered.

Laying in your bed, you kept your eyes closed, just like every morning, desperately hoping that when you opened them things would be different. 

Spoiler alert; they weren’t. 

Determined not to despair about your circumstances, you remembered the good things. 

You still had food. Though, you were low on water. You were alive. Was that a good thing? The Grimes’ were here. That was an actual good thing. 

You _think._

Despite every common-sense bone in your body telling you that letting random people in your house and only safe place was stupid, it had seemed genuinely promising so far. 

Your cheeks flushed when you remembered walking in on Carl changing earlier. He hadn’t seemed too awkward about it, but even still it was the most embarrassing thing that you’d endured for a while.   
Even though it was _mortifying,_ you also thought fondly back on his exposed skin. 

_You have major issues, girl._ A nagging voice said in your head. End-of-the-world and you’re gawking over the first teenage boy to come within 20 miles? A little pathetic. Then again...

_When will there ever be another chance like this?_ The other side of your mind argued. And to be fair, it wasn’t often anyone came around these parts. Was he a crazy murderer who kills stupid girls who let him and his dad in her house? Maybe! But you were just about ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. Almost.

There was a growing clatter of dishes emanating from downstairs. Breakfast, you assumed. 

With a sigh, you rolled over in bed, slowly inching upward until you say upright. You put your head in your hands, kneading your eyes with your palms in an attempt to wake yourself up. 

Apparently, the men liked to be up bright and early. 

Your limbs uncurled as you stood up, stretching and groaning as your muscles protested. You walked slowly to your closet, surveying your options. Usually you walked around in pajamas or your underwear. For some reason, you thought this may not be appropriate now that you had guests. 

Begrudgingly, you decided in wearing real clothes. A grossly oversized t-shirt, tucked messily into light-wash, tattered jeans, fitted with a brown belt. You didn’t bother to check yourself out in the mirror, though you did do your best to tame your bed head, pushing your hair down to lay just a bit flatter on your head. 

When you left your room and started downstairs, the noise of your kitchen being dirtied only got louder. You paused before entering. 

”Carl, I think you need few more ingredients to make pancakes than protein powder and water.” You heard Rick say, an obvious smile in his words. 

“It’s not like I ever learned to cook, dad.” Carl replied sarcastically. “Though, this canned cream of mushroom is looking _quite_ delicious.” He joked. 

You entered the room without a word, pretending that this was a normal occurrence. Both men looked a little uncomfortable at your sudden presence. You almost hated to interrupt. 

“Y/N.” Rick said, suddenly serious.

”...Yes?” Your eyes were still focused in the pantry, searching for something to eat. The older man’s tone of voice was making you nervous, though. Did he always sound mad?

”We have to do something about the walkers around the house.” He sighed. “They just keep attracting each other. If you leave it, you’ll have hundreds at your doors in no time.” 

The worst part was knowing he was right. You plucked a bag of instant coffee from the shelves you were staring at. 

“So what do you suggest?” You were trying your best to sound in charge, like a real adult. You felt a little out of your depth, in all honesty. 

“Trap em’. Spikes, pit traps. Use our remaining ammo to take the rest.” Carl spoke up this time. He was certain, like he’d done this before.

He had a certain look in his eye, like he knew exactly what he was doing. It chilled you to know that he probably did. 

“That’ll take days.” You pointed out. 

“We can’t leave any other way. And when you run out of food-“

”I’m doing just fine-“ You interjected. 

“- _When_ you run out of food. Which isn’t long, now. You’ll have to deal with them then, anyway, right?”

You hated that he was right. 

“We’re found you a favor, Y/N.” Rick said. He looked sincere. 

“Okay.” You retrieved some water from the fridge. “Let me have some breakfast first, though. Jesus, you guys are early risers.” 

The men chuckled at that, even Rick. It felt like a victory, somehow. They watched as you heated up water with a candle that was so low on wax it was barely an inch tall. It did the job though, and you gratefully stirred in your instant coffee mix. 

The room smelled like dark roast for a long time after that as you cracked open some canned food and sat around the table together.

It felt less familial than it did a fucked up kind of business meeting. Well, if the business you were discussing happened to be nearly-decade old, cold, canned corn. 

Rick stood to wash his own dishes, across the kitchen from the table.

“How old are you, Y/N?” Asked Carl suddenly. You were caught slightly off guard.

In fact, you actually had to think about it for a second. 

“Seventeen.” You said after you were sure you’d counted right. He nodded silently, though he looked smug, somehow. “Why?”

”No reason.” He studied your face, seeing you obviously weren’t satisfied with his answer. “Well... It isn’t like you see many teenagers anymore. It’s nice.” His smug grin continued to grow. 

“And how old are you, Carl?” You questioned. 

“Way older than you.” He was starting to laugh even as he said it. You shook your head, smiling. “Fine. Eighteen.”

”Would’ve never guessed, baby face.” You joked.

“Hey!” He looked playfully offended. “Respect your elders!” He barely finished his sentence before the two of you burst out laughing.

Rick shot the two of you a confused look from the sink, which only bolstered your laughter. 

“This means I have infinitely more wisdom than you, Y/N, I’m telling you.” Carl stated, shrugging nonchalantly. 

“Yeah, yeah, in your dreams.” You drank the last sip of your bitter coffee. “Everyone knows teenage boys are the stupidest creatures on the planet.” 

“What about walkers?” He said, feigning offense.

” _Including_ walkers. By a long shot.” You smiled as you said it. Partly from the joke, but partly because you liked to see the smile on Carl’s face. It felt almost precious, like it was something you should hold onto. 

“Okay, kids.” Rick interrupted. “Let’s do this.”

The noise of the creatures was infinitely louder when you walked outside. You understood why this was suddenly a pressing issue. Every walker in the general vicinity could hear the commotion. You suddenly yearned for the days it was a silent utopia. 

“You two will attract them to the left, I’ll start digging pits on the right. Kill any stragglers, and warn me if they lose interest.” Rick ordered. 

He was exactly what you’d think of when you thought ‘leader.’ 

Carl and you nodded as the three of you split. 

Climbing atop the stone wall was impossible without a ladder, and there was no stepping stones on the left side. You moved to start towards the front gate to use the steps, but Carl stopped you, grabbing your arm. 

“Just get on my shoulders, it’ll be faster.” He said, like this was no big deal. 

“I’ll break your back, Carl!” You scoffed, looking over his lanky frame. 

He rolled his eyes, another smug grin on his face. 

“I’m stronger than I look.” You hated to admit that the attitude change was slightly convincing. He took a knee and patted his shoulders without another word. 

Praying to anyone who’d listen that you didn’t gravely injure the boy, you stepped over his right shoulder before carefully snaking your other leg over his left. 

Your hands instinctively flew to his hair to steady yourself, your fingers intertwining with the surprisingly-soft brown locks.   
Embarrassed at this, you consciously softened your grip.

Suddenly, he stood, boosting you all the way to the top of the wall. He did it _easily,_ too, to your pleasant surprise. It was honestly, kind of impressive, and it left a wide grin on your face at the success.

You didn’t waste another second, throwing your arms over the wall and pulling yourself up. When you were stable, you turned and offered a hand to Carl. 

He took it, and you pulled him up as he jumped to grab the top of the stone.

He was also able to pull himself up, leaving the two of you looking out on the sea of grass and walkers. 

Carl quickly took the satchel that was over his head and unbuttoned it.   
  


Inside, were various pots, pans, and utensils. The two of you grabbed a combination of whatever was there and started making loud clanging noises.

Wooden spoons and saucepans, pot covers used like cymbals, anything that would make enough noise to draw the attention of the undead.

With hardly a second thought, the crowd of walkers became intensely interested in the two of you. They began to bunch up and crowd the left side of the wall directly beneath you. 

You knew it was impossible, but the stone wall you sat on seemed less comforting than before. 

The noise was accomplishing it’s purpose though, and the walkers had completely cleared the left side. You glanced briefly over your shoulder to see Rick jump down over the wall and begin his job.

You hoped that the old shovel you’d given him was enough. 

There was one walker who saw this too, branching off from the pack. It began to move away, sure to bring others with it. 

“Y/N, get that one.” He nodded toward the gun on your hip. You grimaced. 

“Can you?” He looked at you, confused. “I’m a terrible shot at long range.” It was the truth. 

The boy set down his utensils before quickly drawing his weapon, cocking it, and aiming, before making a single shot. 

It landed perfectly in the skull. 

Carl looked over at you, tapping his finger to his temple, grinning. 

“See? Infinite wisdom.” 

You shook your head, laughing softly to yourself. It was nice to have someone your age around. Hell, it was nice to have anyone around. 

The walkers never really lost interest. They didn’t have enough critical thinking skills to. They hear sound; they go to it. Simple as that. 

It got pretty monotonous after a while, but you didn’t mind.

After all, you were sure Rick was having a harder time digging walker-pits than you were playing apocalypse-garage-band with your cooking ware. 

You had made a mistake, though. 

Unknowingly, you’d made an attempt to change your sitting position, leaving your legs dangling over the wall.   
You were _sure_ that the walkers were far enough down not to be able to reach. 

Apparently not sure enough though, because as you began to slouch further and further, your legs got pushed lower and lower. 

As the walkers continued to pile up, some get pushed upward from the pressure , grating against the stone. Gross? Yes. A great way to get a little extra height? Also yes. 

It happened so suddenly, you almost didn’t register it. 

  
A walker finally got it’s disgusting, rotting hands on your pant leg, pulling you off the wall, leaving you hanging by your arms.

With a scream, you dropped your spoon and pan, conveniently falling on the walker’s head, releasing his hand. 

Now, though, you dangled above the mob of the undead. You curled your legs upward, but their fingers still gripped and pulled at your shoes. 

“Carl!” You screamed as you struggled to pull yourself up with no leverage and a hoard at your feet. 

He had already drawn his gun, firing wildly into the crowd of walkers.   
Your fingertips grew weak, and you finally got an elbow above the top of the wall. 

One specifically determined walker wrenched your shoe clean off. You kicked at it angrily with your other foot until it’s head was concave. 

Then, Carl abandoned his gun, instead focusing on gripping your arms with an iron grip and pulling you up until you were fully on the top of the wall. 

You were thankful, over everything, besides totally out of breath. 

“Well, fuck.” You heard him mutter quietly to himself before cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling, “DAD! WALKERS INCOMING!” 

You were confused, until you looked and realized that without the pots and pans to draw them, half of the group had broken off, and the other half was starting to follow. 

“Well, fuck is right.” You said dryly. 

“We have to get to the other side to help him.” Carl said, fire in his eye. You nodded without a word. 

The two of you ran along the length of the wall, staying just ahead of the hoard before you reached the right side. 

You looked down at Rick. He’d already dug one massive pit, almost deeper than his head, and he’d started on a second. 

He’d heard the warning and the gunshots and had drawn his gun already, waiting for the group of walkers to arrive. He’d positioned himself with his back to the wall and behind the pit, which would hopefully catch some of the walker on their way to him.

”What the hell happened?” Rick questioned, a dissipointed-but-not-surprised look in his eyes.

You smiled sheepishly.

”My bad, Mr. Grimes.” You said. When he looked up at you, he had an undecipherable look on his face. You didn’t care to look into it. 

“You bit?” Was all he asked. The walkers started to round the corner to the right side. 

“No, sir.” 

“Good. Stay that way.” 

With that, all three of you drew your guns, firing at will. 

The creature were persistent, you’d give them that, but they were no match for the marksmanship of Rick and Carl. 

Well, at first, that is. 

You’d all taken out the first wave, but the next group only thoughtlessly trampled the corpses of the ones before them, coming faster than ever. Some made it past the gunfire, falling victim to the pits. 

The pits worked all the way until they filled to halfway, allowing walkers to climb right out. 

At the most inconvenient time, (the time when most bad things seem to happen), Rick runs out of ammo.

You can hear the gun click from on top of the wall, but the walkers are still coming in hot. You and Carl do your best to defend him as he unsheathes the hunting knife from his belt. 

  
Just then, Carl runs out of ammo too.   
His gun clicks defeatedly, and his face looks panicked. 

Silently, you hand him your gun, take a deep breath and throw yourself down to the ground. 

You take out your own knife, going to stand by Rick. 

“W-what are you doing?” His southern accent is stronger when he’s stressed, you think. 

“Saving your ass. Again.” You raise your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a surprised smile, shrugging in acceptance. 

The two of you double-team the walkers, taking turns until more than one approaches you and you split up. 

You can feel yourself getting more and more covered with blood as the stream of walkers seems endless.

You’re forced to focus on making sure your knife enters and leaves each skull cleanly, and that any inch of your skin stays as far away as possible from the chompers of the walkers. 

It doesn’t take very long before you and Rick are completely surrounded.

”Carl!” Rick shouts. Carl carefully walks over to them on the wall. It seems like your gun ran out of ammo, too. Damn.   
Carl outstretches his arm and Rick backs up as you cover him, allowing him to run and jump to grab his son’s arm.

Carl leans so far backwards he almost falls inward in order to get enough leverage to get Rick over. It works though, and both men are safe on the wall. 

  
The walkers close in. It getting harder to take them. You’re pushing them away now, the opportunity to strike lessened when they crowd around you. 

You think that this might be it for you. 

“Y/N!” It’s Rick. He reaches his arm out to you. Without another thought you take it, jumping to grip his hand. 

As he’s bringing you up, a walker grabs your shoeless ankle, mouth closing into your foot. You struggle helplessly, trying to kick it off. 

Finally, Rick pulls you so hard you’re pulled from the clutches of the creature. 

He also pulls you so hard you hear a sickening _POP_ come from your shoulder. 

You whimper involuntarily at the sound and the shooting pain, akin to lightning, that wraps around your arm. 

Apparently the two men hear it too, because they look at you with a half horrified and half worried expression. 

Your vision becomes slower and slower, the edges becoming darker and darker. Black spots dot your vision until it’s almost completely overtaken. 

The last thing you see is Carl catching you as you collapse into him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can have some actual romance 8k words in......... as a treat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not as slow burn as i planned but that’s okay basically just enjoy it <3

A throbbing, searing pain stabbed through your shoulder even before you opened your eyes. 

The previous events began to come back to you, explaining the newfound pain, rippling throughout your arm.

You heard muffled talking as you tried to unscramble your brain enough to listen to it. 

“She probably just passed out from the pain or the shock. She’ll be jus’ fine, Carl.” It was Rick. You registered that he was talking about you. 

“I get that, Dad. I’m just...” Carl’s voice tapered off. 

“I know.”

You slowly allowed your eyes to open. It must’ve been dark out now, because the only light you saw was the yellow candles on the next to you. 

As your eyes focused, you took in your surroundings. 

You were laying down on the couch in the living room, arm cradled by a makeshift sling. 

“G’morning,” You say suddenly, your voice sounding hoarse and unfamiliar. “How’re you boys doing?”

The two men looked at you with partly grateful, incredulous looks. Rick let out a dry chuckle. 

“We’re doin’ just fine, Y/N.” He says.

Rick is sitting in one of the chairs across from you, while Carl is positioned on the floor by your legs. 

He looks up at you as you attempt to sit up. 

The pain you felt before comes back again, forcing your body to tense, halfway between sitting up and laying down. 

Without a second thought, Carl moves across the floor to you, resting a hand on the small of your back, helping you move fully upward to sit. 

The spot where his hand connected with the fabric of your shirt felt abnormally hot even after his hand moved back to his side. 

Quietly, he spoke. 

“How’s the shoulder?” His voice was softer than you’d heard it before. The vulnerability was almost unnerving. 

“Hurts like a bitch.” You laughed to yourself, though Rick looked at you with a raised eyebrow. 

His face was like a cross between ‘what did you say young lady?’ and ‘are you a bad influence on my son?’ so you stopped laughing. 

“Beats being walker food.” You admitted, giving Rick a tight lipped smile. “Thank you, by the way.”

”I dislocate your shoulder, and you thank me?” It’s Rick’s turn to laugh. You can see that Carl’s grinning too. 

“Well, you kinda saved my ass, so I think it’s pretty well deserved.” You smiled sheepishly. 

“We’re only here because you saved our lives, Y/N.” Carl speaks up. You realize briefly that it’s true. “We’re just repaying the favor.” 

His face was so sincere, it almost gave you a toothache. You laughed it off, quickly averting your eyes to ease the blood flow creeping towards your face.

It was silent for a moment as you assessed your shoulder. When you moved too far any one way, pins and needles tickled the joint. 

“Is it back in place?” You asked.

Rick nodded.

”Did it when you were out, figured it’d be better that way.” You nodded gratefully at his words. “You in a lot of pain?”

You hated to admit weakness. Weakness wasn’t allowed anymore. You wanted to hold back; tell them that it was just a scratch, that you’d be over it in no time. But, of course, that wasn’t the truth. Even the remembrance of the sickening popping noise made your stomach churn.

You looked at your arm in the sling. You feared this could permanently affect your life. What if you, like, tore a ligament or something? Are there ligaments in your shoulder? Trying not to panic, you decided to tell the Grimes’ the truth. 

“Yes,” You sighed. “I-it’s actually, like, pretty excruciating.” You tried to laugh it off, but there was a growing lump in your throat. 

You attempted to focus on anything else but the pain, fearing tears would start to well up otherwise.

“Sounds about right.” Carl speaks up. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll get better.” His words were slightly comforting, and you were inclined to believe them. You nodded at him gratefully.

”It’s late. You two should really get going to bed.” Rick said, glancing at the lack of light around the room. You realized it was probably later than you thought, seeing as you’d been passed out for most of the day. 

You also took into account the fact that you were currently laying on Rick’s bed, the couch. 

You slowly adjusted, and Carl’s arms immediately shot out to steady you as you stood. 

You appreciated it, but you didn’t really like the sudden feeling that you were being babied. With a trite smile, you ascended the stairs, Carl behind you. 

When you reached your door at the top of the stairs, Carl looked at you, pausing his steps upward. You glanced back at him, confused at his actions. 

He opened his mouth to say something, and you looked at him expectingly. Then, he quickly shut it, walking up the final steps and passing you to go down the hallway to his room.   
  


Honestly, you were confused. 

Were teenage boys always this weird? You hadn’t had any real experience, but you did have to wonder. 

Not willing to question it, you quietly slipped into your own room. It was just as it always was; empty. You let out a long sigh. 

You’d always experienced solace in your solitude. Recently though, it wasn’t as comforting as you remembered. 

The shirt you were wearing was sweaty and grimy, covered in dirt and walker blood, but you knew, at least currently, that there was no way you’d be able to take it off yourself. 

You were thankful that the sling went over your clothes, but the act of being able to change was now somewhat of a luxury. 

It was actually pretty disgusting, and you were almost as grossed out and dissatisfied with this conclusion than the injury itself.

Resigned to figure it out tomorrow, you decided to occupy yourself elsewhere. 

It was purposeful when you had had the window in to your room left un-boarded. You didn’t think you could’ve lived in a completely closed off room. Also, it allowed you to do your regular routine of star watching. 

Roughly yanking the window pane upward, the night air rushed refreshingly into your room. The cool breeze washed over you, raising goosebumps on your skin, but calming your mind. You took a deep breath, letting the smell of the night fill your lungs. 

Then, you ducked slightly until you’d maneuvered onto the windowsill, your legs extended outward, feet resting on the roof. 

You looked up, glad it it wasn’t a cloudy night. The stars still shone brightly, one of the only constants in your life nowadays.

You didn’t know exactly how long you sat there, but it didn’t feel like long enough before you were disturbed.

A subdued knocking came from your door, pulling you out of your trance. 

You wondered who it could be. Rick? Carl?

There really was no reason for you to move off the sill. It was your own house, for god’s sake. 

“Come in,” You said, loud enough to be heard in the hallway. “It isn’t locked.” 

The door then began to quietly open, hinges squeaking slightly at the movement. The cool, blue-hued moonlight shown on the door, eventually revealing who’d knocked. 

Carl. 

“Hey, Y/N.” He said, looking off guard as he took in your position at the window. 

“Yes?” You asked. It was strange. Strange in the way that you had no clue why he was here, but something inside you was telling you that you didn’t mind the company. 

“I finished the comic you gave me.” He held up the book you’d given him earlier. You’d honestly almost forgotten about it. You nodded, finally moving to get off the window to get it from his hands. 

He still stood in the doorway, barely even in the threshold of your room. You smiled at his hesitance. 

Silently, you slipped the book out of his hand and walked over to your drawer, opening it. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him start to turn back out to the hallway. 

“Wait, Carl,” You interjected suddenly, surprising yourself as well as the boy at the door. “You can have another one.” 

You took all of the other books and spread them onto your bedspread for him to examine. 

“And you can close the door.” This peaked his interest, his eyes shooting up at you like a lost puppy. “To not wake up your dad. Nothing, like, weird.” You felt obligated to specify. 

This eased him, and he quietly closed the door until it clicked.

You watched as he silently flipped through each book, reading the summary of every one. 

Finally, he picked a copy of an old Doom Patrol comic, one of your favorites. You smiled at his choice. 

Without a thought, you resumed your place at the window. 

“Just put the rest back in the drawer, if you don’t mind.” You said absentmindedly, trying to locate the constellation you’d been focusing on before Carl entered. 

You heard a drawer open, but Carl paused, in some sort of shock. 

“Just move the gun-“ But as you turned, you noticed that he’d opened the wrong drawer. 

A intricate glass bottle was balanced in his hands, about three quarters full of a pale, beige liquid. You knew exactly what it was. 

“Y-you have whiskey? A whole bottle?” Carl’s voice has suddenly become slightly squeakier. A wide smile had formed on his face, looking at you in disbelief. 

You couldn’t hold in the cackle that bubbled up in your throat. 

“Well, most of a bottle. How else am I supposed to stay entertained, all alone in here?” The truth was, you hated drinking alone, and you’d had a fear of drinking yourself to death before the walkers got you, so you’d had the whiskey saved for a while. You hadn’t known for what, exactly, at the time, but now that you had someone else here, an inkling of an idea formed in your head.

”Would you... wanna try some?” You asked tentatively, raising a single eyebrow at Carl. 

He nodded far too enthusiastically.

You motioned him over to the window with your head, and he followed without question, ducking down to fit under the opening. 

“Have you ever drank, Carl?” You asked, genuinely curious. 

He laughed softly to himself, his dark hair falling further into his eyes. 

“I had a sip of my mom’s wine once.” He said, the admission of the memory seeming to surprise him too. 

“Before?” You asked, hoping you weren’t overstepping. 

He was silent for a minute, fiddling with the bottle in his hands. 

“During. Early on.” He said, slightly solemn. 

You knew not to press further, and you searched for a way to somehow change the topic from his mother. 

“Well, I’ll tell you that this is definitely not wine, that’s for sure.” 

Both of you laughed together at this, as Carl finally got the top screwed off. 

He brought the bottle to his nose, smelling it before his entire face scrunched into an obviously unpleasant expression.   
  


“It smells like...” He searched for the words. 

“Donkey piss?” You suggested.

”Exactly!”

  
You started laughing again. This time, you studied his delicate features as they contorted into the gleeful expression of laughter. It brought a smile to your face too. 

Without another moment’s hesitation, he tipped the bottle to his lips, allowing the liquid to flow from the bottle into his mouth, taking two big pulls of the alcohol. 

As soon as he’d swallowed, he coughed gratuitously, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he hunched over. He shivered, before squeezing his eyes tightly shut at the stinging of the whiskey. 

You couldn’t hold in the loud, forceful laugh that escaped your mouth. He looked at you, with a slightly embarrassed smile.

”Hey, I want you to try some of that, and tell me it doesn’t taste like poison.” He was being playfully defensive, extending his arm to give the bottle to you. You accepted it, of course. 

Silently, you brought the same bottle to your own lips that Carl had just drank from, taking about the same amount of alcohol down your throat. 

The whiskey was rough, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t burn, the liquid making your nose sting at the taste. 

As it went down, it warmed your body, radiating waves of heat until it hit your stomach. It was almost worth the sour taste left in your mouth. 

Luckily for your dignity, you’d already known what to expect, meaning with just a sour facial expression, you’d handled it about ten times better than he had. 

His mouth was open slightly, like he was shocked you’d been able to drink it at all without crawling out of your skin.

”Mmmm,” You teased. “poison, how delicious.” 

Carl laughed at this, baring his teeth in his smile. The feeling in your stomach when you looked at him was the alcohol, right? 

“You want any more?” You questioned. From his reaction, he seemed less than interested in it. Despite this, he smiled, something mischievous in his face. 

“Of course I do. A little battery acid never hurt anyone, yeah?” He watched you as you giggled, leaning your back up against the windowsill, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The two of you passed the bottle back and forth, alternating taking swigs of the vile fluid. 

Eventually, you’d adjusted to the taste, but continued to drink anyway.

A few-too-many in, your vision had started to blur, feeling like you were moving in slow motion every time you moved your head. 

Your head was abnormally heavy, falling slack against your good shoulder. 

Speaking of, the whiskey happened to numb your shoulder to the point of just being a dull throb. You were extra grateful for that. 

Almost as grateful as you were for the man across from you. 

“I-I’m telling you, Carl!” You exclaimed, your one hand enthusiastically waving at him. “I am just tipsy!” You were trying to convince yourself as well. 

“I-“ He paused to hiccup. “am b-barely buzzed, ‘m pretty sure.” He hiccuped again. 

At the obvious lies you’d both just told, you laughed, hunching over until your foreheads nearly touched. 

“Is you dad a heavy sleeper?” You asked suddenly, realizing you two were being, perhaps, a little loud. 

“The heaviest.” Carl assured you, shaking his head exaggeratedly. 

He extended his hand in front of him, wiggling his fingers in front of his face. 

“D-do my-“ He hiccuped again. “my fingers look blurry to you?” He asked curiously, extending his hand to you. 

You took his slender fingers into yours, studying them closely. You then guided his hand in front of your face, moving his fingers like he had earlier, trying to identify if they were really blurry or not. 

After almost a minute of close examination, you’d come to a conclusion.

”No, I think you’re just, like, really, really, _really_ drunk.” You giggled, watching Carl smile with you. 

You hadn’t realized, but the two of you had gotten progressively closer as the night had gone on. 

Now, your shoulders were nearly touching, and you could actually feel the heat radiating off of him. 

You turned your head to look at him, and in a brilliant moment of drunk logic, you moved your hand to intertwine with his dark brown locks of hair up to his scalp.

It was shockingly soft as you rolled it around between your fingers, combing through it gently. 

“Never cut this, Carl.” You said, nodding to no one but yourself. He didn’t turn to look at you. 

“Why not?” His voice cracked, but he coughed gently to cover it. He sounded suddenly more sober. You stopped focusing on his hair to look at his face, noticing his flaming pink cheeks. 

You contemplated for a moment what would be the least embarrassing way to say it. 

“‘Cause it’s cute, duh.” That was what you decided on? You thought subconsciously that you may regret that in the morning, but didn’t have enough lucidity to care. 

He looked at you now, a look of utter surprise on his face. He seemed like he was at a loss for words. You figured this was your cue to be embarrassed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to it.

“W-what?” You laughed curtly. “You’ve never been called cute before?” There was heavy disbelief in your voice.

Carl was the cutest boy you’d seen since... Well, ever. No one else had thought to tell him? 

“Well,” He thought about it for another second. “No, not really.” He finished his sentence before he hiccuped this time.

You gasped, your head lolling around on your shoulder to face him again. 

“That’s horrible!” You shook your head, faux disappointment of your face. “I’m being completely objective here, I think.” You nodded to yourself before continuing. “And, again, totally objectively, you’re pretty cute.” 

Carl’s cheeks only continued to heat up as you kept talking. 

“I’ve never gotten a-“ His hiccups were getting quieter now. “-a compliment from a pretty girl before.” He smiled, more confident in himself now. 

The two of you sat, facing each other, cheeks flushed, drunk, foreheads inches from touching. 

With a sudden wave of sanity, you pulled away. It was better not to get too far with anything that you may regret later. 

“I think you’re a flirty drunk, Carl.” You said, an edge of admiration in your tone. He nodded, a smile growing on his face once more. 

“I think I might be too!” He sounded more ecstatic than anything.

You both sat, talking more, for a while, occasionally taking more sips of the whiskey, just to warm yourselves in the night air. 

After one stretch of silence, an idea struck you. 

An idea that, to it’s credit, would never have been given a second thought while sober, but seemed like a stroke of incredible genius at the time. 

“Carl, would you help me change?” You flashed him your best puppy-dog eyes. 

His cheeks took on another deeply warm hue. 

“W-w-what? Did I- uh- what? What?” Carl was apparently trying to comprehend your ask. 

“‘Cause of my arm, of course.” You playfully rolled your eyes. “I can’t do it on my own!” You pointed out. “It’s an innocent favor, Carl, it’s not my fault you have a dirty, dirty mind.” You teased.

”No!” He exclaimed, nearly falling out of the window onto the roof below. “N-not a dirty mind thing!” He scrambled to explain himself, but his cheeks stayed brightly colored. 

“Whatever you say, Carl.” You smiled, enjoying his reaction.

”You just wanna s-see me squirm.” He said, eyes furrowed, realizing your joke. 

“What’d’ya mean?” You laughed. “I’m being serious, though. Way too much walker blood on this fuckin’ top for my liking.” You gestured loosely to your bloodstained tee.

As the two of you moved into your room from outside, you couldn’t help but notice his quickened breathing, chest rising and falling with shortened breaths.

It was surprisingly endearing. 

First, Carl’s slender fingers began to untie the sling that wrapped around your shoulder, letting your arm dangle limply at your side.

You could tell that it was supposed to be hurting, but the alcohol in your system was doing a killer job of numbing it. 

After your arm was set loose, Carl couldn’t help but hesitate. 

“Really, ‘s okay, Carl.” You assured him. “I’m _asking_ you to do this for me. Just take my shirt off, it’s not that big of a deal.” 

It sounded slightly strained as you tried to be comforting. Honestly, this was a little embarrassing for you too, but it was better than sleeping in the disgusting clothes you were in now. 

You could practically hear Carl’s heart pounding as his fingers toyed with the hem of your t-shirt. 

As gently as possible, he moved it over your good arm, moving it around your neck, before slowly inching it down your bad shoulder. 

He was careful to avoid the joint, and slipped it off your body with near ease. 

Luckily, you’d decided on a bra that morning, though it might as well not been there at all from the way Carl’s eyes seemed borderline magnetized to it, like he had fucking x-ray vision or something. 

His eyes kept flicking from the floor to the plain black bra that covered you chest. 

“My face is up here, Carl.” You teased him, but he looked absolutely mortified.

”I-I didn’t- I-“ He began to stutter out an apology, but you laughed before he could finish. 

“I’m kidding.” You assured him, watching a nervous smile grow on his face. 

“Right.” 

“You can do my belt now.” You say nonchalantly, looking at your shoulder to inspect the redness of it. 

“B-belt?” He was back to looking shockingly out of his depth. You sighed.

”I’m not gonna sleep in jeans, and besides, they’re half soaked in blood and mud anyway.” It was true, but you saw his hesitance. “You don’t have to, Carl, if you don’t want to. I’m not trying to, like, pressure you, if it bothers you.”

You realized this favor seemed more sexual than when it first occurred to you.

“No, no, it’s fine.” He laughed to himself. “I’m, uh, plenty comfortable.” He was smiling to himself now, too. You didn’t dare ask.

He moved his fingers to your belt buckle, hands grazing your lower stomach as he worked. He’d had to move so close to you in order to undo it that you could feel his warm breath on your cheek. 

It took only a moment for him to get it undone, sliding it out of the belt loops before setting it gently on the side table. 

You looked at him thankfully. You probably would’ve been stuck in your filthy clothes for months without his help. You shivered at the thought.

You were about to cue him that it was okay him for take off your jeans, but he was apparently done with the need for prompting as he suddenly crouched to begin the button. 

It was your turn to blush now. 

His face was inches from your fly as he worked open the buttons on your pants, sliding the zipper down painstakingly slowly, surely to make sure it doesn’t get stuck. Right?

  
When he flicked his perfect, blue eye up to look at you, cheeks perfectly flushed, an indescribable look on his face, hair slightly tussled and splayed gently on his shoulders, you couldn’t help it. 

You tossed your head back to redirect your gaze to the ceiling, trying to calm your breathing and distract you from the growing warmth in your lower stomach. 

Man, this was a bad idea, huh?

You hoped for the life of you that Carl hadn’t noticed, but judging by the small chuckle you heard from below you, you had a bad feeling that he absolutely did. Dammit.

He slowly slid the blue denim down your legs, his hands brushing your bare skin all the way down, leaving trails of contact that buzzed like electricity. 

Without any order to, you stepped out of the pant legs, your intoxication making it slightly challenging to stay balanced.

You could tell his eyes were focused on your red panties from the way his eyes were wide with... shock, was it? He moved to stand up, trying his hardest to draw his hormonal eyes away, though he was mostly unsuccessful.

The lack of balance really started to get to you as you finished stepping out of the pant legs, your vision starting to blur just slightly with the sudden movement of your feet. 

Your head slightly spinning, you begin to fall forward. 

Carl acts quickly, pushing himself up against you to stop your descent. The two of you, drunk as all hell, sway for almost a minute before you’re completely stable. 

The sudden realization that you’re more than half-naked, while pressed up against a boy who was cute _and_ warm, was one that redirected all blood flow to your cheeks and your crotch. 

Apparently, you weren’t alone in this, as you began to feel the fly of Carl’s jeans press gently into your lower stomach. 

You looked up at his face, and he was already looking at you. 

He was, expectedly, completely mortified, though seemingly hoping you hadn’t noticed. 

You couldn’t blame him, of course, and you felt quite bad for putting him in the situation in the first place, so you elected to say nothing.

Though it was quite the ego boost, in all honesty. 

He pulled away, pulling gently at his pant legs to lessen the pressure. You shot him an understanding smile, a flush creeping up your neck. 

“Could you pass me that sweater?” You asked, referring to an old, tattered, brown sweater that sat behind him on a dresser. 

It was the comfiest sweater you owned, and you loved to sleep in it. Carl quickly tossed it to you, and you were forced to catch it with one hand. 

Without you even having to ask, he walked over, helping you slip it separately over each arm, trying to be as gentle as possible.

He had a delicate touch, finally helping you push it over your upper body. 

Still close, you looked up at him. 

He was already looking down at you. 

“Thank you for the whiskey.” He said, first. You chuckled quietly. 

“My pleasure,” You said, grinning at him. “Thank you for helping me with my shoulder.” You decided to leave it at that. 

“Y/N I-“

A sudden creaking came all the way from downstairs. The footsteps were muffled, but definitely there. Rick must’ve woken up, for some reason. 

You both froze, and unconsciously separated slightly. 

Carl looked toward the door, and then out the window at the night sky, as if it was a clock to indicate the ridiculously late (or really, early) hour. 

“Well, goodnight.” Was all Carl said, giving you a subdued smile before grabbing the comic off of your bed spread, and walking toward the door.

He quietly turned the knob, cracking the door just enough for him to slip out. 

Before he left, he looked back at you. 

“Goodnight.” Was all you managed to say.

Satisfied, he disappeared into the hallway, and shut the door behind him. 

With a sigh of disbelief, you lay yourself gently down on your bed, the world still spinning violently around you. 

Did that really happen?

Oh my god, that really happened.

All you could do was hope semi-desperately that neither of you remembered it in the morning. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can have some actual romance 8k words in......... as a treat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not as slow burn as i planned but that’s okay basically just enjoy it <3

Unfortunately, you did remember ‘it’ in the morning. 

When your eyes opened for the first time the next morning, your shoulder was not the only part of your body in pain. 

For one, your head felt like it’d been put through a blender, your eyes were burning from the light streaming through your window, your cheeks were aflame with embarrassment, and the lump climbing up from your stomach to your throat was definitely an honorable mention. 

Perhaps the most pressing issue, actually. 

Despite the protest from just about every muscle in your body, you were able to propel yourself up from bed, down the hall, and into the bathroom. 

Luckily, you’d made it just in time, before you were forced to hunch over the shower drain (due to the pertinent lack of running water), the remains of yesterday’s food and whiskey making a second appearance. 

Groaning, you sit back and press your cheek against the wall of the bathroom, allowing the cool paint to soothe you. 

You were also forced to use the rain water from the buckets to wash the evidence down the drain, which definitely didn’t help settle your stomach by any means.

After nearly falling back asleep on the bathroom floor, you still manage to pull yourself up, hobbling back to your room, rubbing one temple. 

You briefly contemplate going back to bed, but after glancing at your watch, you realize it probably wasn’t a great idea.

_2:13 PM_

Oh lord.

At least you could play it off as sleeping off an injury. Which, to be fair, was true. 

Carl, on the other hand, would surely be in for it if he sleeps this far into the afternoon. Would Rick somehow figure out that you were both sleeping off insane hangovers?

You momentarily think to go and wake him, but after the memories of the previous night once again cycle to the front of your mind, you decide against it. 

With much difficulty, you manage to slide on a pair of men’s shorts that you have to roll up at the waist in order to make them fit. They were some of the only pairs of bottoms you had that didn’t require a belt. 

Then, carefully tiptoeing (mostly for your own benefit), you make your way downstairs. 

Every sound seems amplified by a million times as you hear vague movement in the living room. When you turn the corner you see Rick _and_ Carl sitting together on the couch. 

Rick looked slightly confused, maybe even a bit concerned. 

Carl looked like death.

His eyes had new, puffy bags under them, and his hair was untamed. His abnormally pale complexion only retained color when he saw your face, pink rushing to his cheeks. 

“G’ morning,” Rick says, smiling slightly. You know he isn’t talking loudly, but it feels like he’s yelling. “Sleep well, then?” 

You held back a grimace as you flashed him a grin instead. You vehemently avoided Carl’s eyes. 

“Oh, yeah, terrific sleep.” You say absentmindedly, still rubbing your temple. 

“I see you managed to undo your sling?” Rick realizes, venturing to your arm at your side. You quickly realize that you forgot to redo it. “Shoulder must be feeling better.” 

You laugh nervously, massaging your shoulder now, realizing it actually does feel much better. You’re even able to move it slightly, though after a certain point, a shooting pain wraps around it once more. 

“Y-yep. Much better, actually.” You sound nervous, but it isn’t exactly a lie. Then again, you did have help getting it off. 

More heat flushes to your cheeks at the thought. It felt like Carl’s touch lingered on your skin, strangely vivid in your mind among the hazy events of the night.

The silence in the room is uncomfortable, to say the least. In fact, you have no clue how much Rick knows about last night, or what Carl remembers. 

You mumble something about food, using it as an excuse to turn your back and escape to the kitchen. 

Deciding on water and a bag of freeze-dried strawberries, you sit down at the table, alone. 

The added drama of having others in your house was not something you’d anticipated that first day you’d seen the two of them on the road. 

You aren’t allowed to think uninterrupted for very long before Rick walks in. 

Vaguely quiet steps ascend up the stairs. Carl, you deduce. 

Rick doesn’t look at you right away. He stands, facing the boarded window above the sink, leaning on the counter. He appears to be formulating the right thing to say. Though, his serious expression doesn’t exactly instill confidence in you. 

“What happened last night?” He asks. You can’t tell if he already knows, or if the question is genuine. 

You stutter, looking for a good response. You’re caught quite off guard by the straightforward question. 

“W-what do you mean?” It was all that came to you that wasn’t incriminating. 

He raises a single eyebrow. 

“Something happened last night.” He sighs heavily. “I heard you up late, and now you both blush like schoolgirls at the sight of each other, like I wouldn’t know somethings going on.” He scoffs, barely audible.

It was fair. You’d be pretty shocked if he _didn’t_ figure out that something had happened. 

“Well, uh, w-“ You started to answer, but he stopped you. 

“You know what? I don’t want to know. I don’t.” He sighed again. You were actually slightly thankful. “But I need to know what exactly you’re getting at with him.”

”What is this, like a ‘ _you hurt my son I’ll break your legs_ ‘ thing?” You chuckled, meaning it as a joke. 

Unfortunately for you, the solemn look on his face forced you to realize what he meant. 

“He’s lost a lot.” He says. You wanted to tell him that you had too, but you didn’t have the courage. “And he doesn’t need to get attached to someone who’s set to kick us out when we clean up the walkers outside her house.” 

His words almost offended you, until you realized he was pretty much right. 

“That was... before.” You say, voice uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Before what?” 

“Before you and Carl saved my life.” You take a deep breath before bringing your eyes to meet Rick’s. “A-and I know I seemed a little cold hearted, but you have to understand me, right? I didn’t know you. But now I know both of you, and I don’t intend to kick you out anytime soon, walkers or not.” You finally broke eye contact. 

“Carl-“

”I know. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.” 

The silence between you was a little less suffocating now, though it was still considerably more comfortable for you when Rick turned and left.

Jesus christ, what have you gotten yourself into with these guys?

After a less-than-filling lunch, you carefully made your way to your room. 

It was less comforting than you would’ve preferred, but the headache that still pounded incessantly inside your skull wasn’t forgiving enough to allow you to dwell on it. 

Hardly thinking, you sink into your bedspread, not bothering to get under the covers.

It must take hardly a minute before you curl up, your eyes immediately falling shut, sleep creeping easily into your mind. 

***  
  


“Y/N?” 

A soft voice comes from inside your room. 

Even with your eyes still closed, you thrust your hand underneath your pillow to grab your hunting knife.

Without a second thought, you sit up, pointing the weapon in the direction of the sound, all as you rub open your eyes.

”Oh, it’s you.” You focus your eyes, quickly realize that you were wielding your knife in the direction of Carl. 

He has a small smile on his face, like he’s stifling a laugh. You can’t help but let out a small chuckle at yourself, too.

Carl was standing at the foot of your bed, hands shoved deep in his jean pockets. He rocked back and forth on his heels, making shaky eye contact with you as you sat up.

“I-is something wrong, Carl?” You ask, as you study his nervous demeanor. He smiles weakly. 

“Well, uh, no not really,” He sighs. “I just figured we should maybe... talk about last night.” He glances at you tentatively.

”Oh, uh, okay,” You sat up fully before patting your bedspread a few times. “You can sit.”

Carl shuts the door softly behind him before gently approaching, seating himself on your mattress so gently that he was nearly off the edge. 

You watched him as he fidgeted, wringing his hands silently. 

“I’m sorry for getting you so drunk.” You said suddenly, deciding to break the silence. “That was on me.”

Carl laughed.

”No, no, really it wasn’t.” He sat further onto the bed. “I’m afraid that maybe I, uh, took advantage of... the situation.”

You realized he meant that he thought he might’ve been taking advantage of _you_ in your intoxicated state. Now you realize why exactly he’d been so cautious around you. 

“Oh, Carl, no!” You tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Really, truly, you weren’t. Honestly, I thought I might’ve been the one taking advantage of your low alcohol tolerance.” You admitted. 

He looked almost ashamed at that, brushing his hair to one side with his hand. 

“You definitely didn’t.” His answer was absolute.

Then, there was an uncomfortable stretch of silence, where you had no idea if it was now your turn to speak or not. A coil of anxiety was twisting in your gut as you were desperate to find something to say.

”Y/N?” Carl asked suddenly. 

“Y-yeah?”

”What happened... last night,” His eyes can’t meet yours. “I think that maybe I wouldn’t mind doing it again.” Your eyes met, and you were sure you looked dizzy with shock. “There isn’t a lot of cool people out there nowadays, but I think you’re one of them. And it’s the end of the world so, well, fuck it, right?” He smiled sheepishly.

His speech had apparently been completely improvised, because he struggled to string together the words. 

You were basically at a loss, looking at Carl. His face only got redder as the seconds passed, somehow in apparent slow motion. 

He moved to get up and leave at your silence, but when he started to stand, your hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Fuck it.” You agreed. 

You pulled him back to you by his wrist, forcing him to brace himself on the bed with his knee. As you drew him close, his face got unbearably near yours, his hot breath gently warming your cheek. 

His face was contorted with astonishment and nerves as he looked at you. Then, you watched as his pale blue eye fluttered shut. Naturally, yours followed.

Before you knew it, Carl’s warm lips connected with yours, a new and unfamiliar sensation, though not at all bad. What started as a peck quickly deepened, his mouth opening first as yours followed, the mostly-innocent action becoming less so by the second. 

It was terrifying, honestly. You had no clue what to do, except for what you’d seen on damaged DVD’s of shitty romcoms that you’d salvaged.

The thing that allowed you to continue was not only the cute boy with his tongue in your mouth, but also the mantra that played over and over in your head—

_Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it._

You then felt Carl’s hand break from your grasp, instead moving to your side, resting perfectly on the curve of your waist. 

The area where his hand touched you felt red hot, tingling static electricity emanating from the spot. 

It was unfamiliar, strange even, to feel such _want_ for someone; for anything. But you felt it now more than ever. Carl was cute, and cool, and above all else, he was in your bed, willing to kiss you. 

You allowed your strained arm to wander to his knee, your thumb stroking patterns onto the denim. Your other hand rose to the back of his neck.

Instead of pushing aside his long, brown locks, you combed your fingers through the strands on the back of his neck before grabbing a hold of them with your fingers. It was something you’d thought about doing ever since he’d shown up here.

As soon as you’d gripped his hair, a small, almost undetectable sound came from his mouth into yours. Something between a whimper and a groan. 

You secretly filed that information away for later (would there be a later?) as you pulled him closer. 

After what felt like just a few seconds, but also forever, Carl broke apart from you.

His face was flushed, and you realized yours was probably the same. His lips glistened with a mix of both of your saliva, his mouth bright pink, nearly red from the kiss. His pupil seemed huge as he tried to catch his breath. 

He leaned back, retracting his hand from your side. 

“W-was that, uh, okay?” He said, breathlessly. 

You nodded heartily, willing everything in you not to pull him back to you. 

“Yes, Carl, it really, really was.”

“Y/N, I, uh,” He paused, apparently debating on whether to finish his statement. You looked at him questioningly. “I really like you.”

The words froze you dead in your tracks. Oh no. Really like? _Like?_

The equivalent of a powerpoint presentation played in your head of all the people who you’d lost thus far. Of how much you’d loved them all. How much harder that made it to lose them. 

It was your turn to pull away now. 

You remembered Rick’s ‘talking to’ that he’d given you earlier that day. 

“ _He’s_ _lost a lot.”_ He’d said. It felt cruel to get attached to anyone anymore. To let him get attached to you. 

“If you get attached to me, it’ll make losing me only hurt more.” It sounded harsh when it came out of your mouth.   
You felt a pang in your chest when you watched his face drop suddenly. 

Without another second, Carl stood up, removing himself from your bed. 

“I’m sorry that I... misunderstood.” He wasn’t looking at the ground this time, but his face was twisted into an expression you couldn’t discern. 

“No, wait, Carl-“ You started, but he was already out the door before you could finish.

You sprung out of bed to follow him, opening the door and looking down the hallway, just in time to see the other bedroom door shut tightly.

You looked the other way, and saw Rick at the other end of the hallway. 

He gave you a stern look, as if this was exactly what he’d foreseen this morning. His eyes oozed ‘I-told-you-so’ as he went silently back down the stairs. Your stomach was clenched tightly in a knot. 

Yoy desperately tried to convince yourself that you’d done the right thing. It was better this way. 

That night, you skipped dinner and slept a dreamless, but fretful sleep. 


End file.
